


Our Battlefield

by shitfanficmeup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Codependency, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Soldiers, Substance Abuse, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitfanficmeup/pseuds/shitfanficmeup
Summary: France, March 1942Private Dean Winchester listened to the shelling fly overhead. This was his chance to prove himself as the good little soldier his father always wanted him to be. He would die on this battlefield.But as he listened to his best friend, Private Novak ramble on about life after the war, he started to think maybe he also deserved a life after the bombs and blood stopped.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I took a break from writing for a while but I've decided to start again. This is my first longer fic in a hot minute. Be kind! I love feedback :)

** January 1941 **

In Lawrence, Kansas twenty-two-year-old Dean Winchester sat in the living room of his family’s old blue one-story ranch house, the static crackled over the radio, filling the otherwise silent room. His father and younger brother also listened in on the war draft as the radio announcer continued to read off birthdates in a monotone voice. When they called Dean’s birthdate of January 24th, 1919 his father, John, a war vet himself, was overjoyed that his son was going to get a chance to serve his country. 

Dean was just happy he would have a chance to make his father proud. 

John shook his eldest son’s hand and slapped him on the back, the look of pride was the first time he had ever looked at his son like that in all twenty-two years. Dean’s younger brother, Sam was another story; h e had heard horrific details from his mentors at college about these young men who had returned from overseas with serious injurious; missing arms, legs, gunshot wounds, chemical and heat burns, not to mention the injuries you could not see— the ones nobody knew just how to heal. 

Dean would be required to report in one week to basic training but he was not the only one; along with the thousands of other able-bodied young men across the United States was twenty-one year old Castiel Novak. 

His mother, Naomi held his hand and wept at the thought of her only child going across the Atlantic to fight in the war she had heard the other mother’s sobbing over.  Castiel sat by her side quietly accepting his fate. In one short week, he would have to leave behind everything he had ever known. He would have to leave the small town of New Hope, Pennsylvania for the trenches of World War II. 

Dean’s last week at home came and went with little celebration. His father sent him off to basic training with a handshake and a ghost of a smile, something Dean had not seen since his mother was still alive sixteen years ago. Dean hugged Sam and ruffled his light brown hair that was starting to reach down to his ears, “Keep studying, Bitch.”

Sam who was actively trying to push back his tears, shoved his big brother and sadly chuckled, “Be safe, Jerk.” 

Dean climbed aboard the long, green military bus filled with young men just like him on their way to Fort Jackson in Columbia, South Carolina. The bus ride seemed endless and was painfully silent but Dean let his mind stray to think about Sammy’s sad face fading away in the grimy window as they pulled away and just what his mother would think about her eldest son going off to fight in a war. Would she be as proud as his father? 

The newest recruits arrived in Fort Jackson in the early hours of the following day and it certainly did not take long for a Drill Sergeant to start yelling at them to get their asses in gear and get into the barracks. Dean tried to keep his mind clear as his worn-out tennis shoes jogged towards the tin-roofed building. 

Other soldiers who had been there longer sized up the new recruits as they continued with their drills on the military base's well-groomed field. Inside the barracks, Drill Sergeant Walker, an intimidating man of stature and reputation, gave them their green fatigues and a rundown of their new life rules that they needed to live by. His loud voice barked out orders in a tone that could have brought the devil to his knees, “From now on you will speak only when spoken to, the first and last words out of your mouth will be Sir, do I make myself clear?!”

All the recruits replied in unison, “Sir, yes sir!”

“If somehow you maggots make it through these next fourteen weeks, you will be facing absolute hell on the other side of the Atlantic. Men who will not think twice about sending you home in a body bag so you had best be ready. You will listen to every word I say, if you do not, you will not survive. Do I make myself clear?!”

“Sir, yes sir!” 

It was here that Dean relearned everything; how to make his bed correctly, how to dress, how to run, how to exercise. He also learned how to care for his new rifle, the one piece of machinery that was supposed to save his life. 

But he was not the only one, in the 109th infantry along with Private Dean Winchester was Private Benny Lafitte from New Orleans, Louisiana, and Private Garth Fitzgerald from Warsaw, Missouri. With them were Privates Luke, Gabe, Adam, and their squad medic, Private Kevin Tran. All fine young men, Dean thought it a shame that they were all going to be dead sooner or later. 

They all became good friends but nobody clicked with Dean as well as Private Castiel Novak did. Their bunks were directly across the barracks from each other and that is exactly how the two friends met; one morning when they were all being screamed at by their Drill Instructor, Dean made eye contact with Castiel, and for some reason, he needed to suppress a smirk.  Maybe it was the way Castiel seemed so stiff like a tin solider toy or maybe it was the way he had his face all scrunched up. But the reason did not matter, the smile was there, he had already let it slip. 

Unfortunately, Drill Sargent Walker happened to see the glimmer of happiness, “Winchester! What the hell is so goddamn funny?!”

Dean already knew he was in a hole, “Sir, nothing sir.” 

“Really?! Cause your face is screwed sideways three ways from Sunday!” Walker was in his face and Dean was just trying to submit but from across the barracks came a whimper of a chuckle.

Turning on his heels like a madman ready to commit murder, Walker snatched Castiel by his collar, “Just what the fuck are you laughing at?”

A deep voice answered him, “Sir, nothing sir.”

With a hand still balled up in his collar, Castiel was dragged over to Dean. Walker carried them both by their collars like two kittens into the latrine and threw them onto the floor, “I want it so fucking clean Jesus Christ himself would take a shit on any of these commodes."

The two privates silently scrubbed the floor until Castiel looked up at the stranger sitting across from him, “So… where are you from?”  Sitting on that dirty latrine floor together was the beginning of their friendship. Ever since then, they experienced all the struggles of basic training together. Side by side, they ran miles and miles together, lifted weights, and ate their meals in the mess halls together. They got yelled at by Drill Sergeant Walker and did P.T until they thought their bodies would crumble into ash. 

After fourteen weeks of basic training, they finally got the call that it was time for them to go to France… and they would do that together too.All too soon the 109th infantry landed in France to start their effort to help end the war.  City through city in Nazi-occupied territory they killed their enemy and helped the innocent citizens caught in the cross-fire. With every man that hit the ground, Dean felt a sense of pride while Castiel felt guilt. 

With every ounce of spilled blood, Dean thought of his father and the smile that would be waiting for him when he returned home but Castiel could only bow his head and pray for forgiveness. 


	2. Chapter 2

** February 1942  **

Even in the worst conditions imaginable; in putrid, swamp-like trenches, rat-infested spaces, less than edible c-rations, marching for days on end with their boots and damp socks digging into their tired feet, Dean and Cas still managed to crack a smile for each other. Their inside jokes were at face value dumb and often immature but they made the days go by faster and the dark, tense nights easier to endure. 

The rest of their squad also had their jokes but theirs were mostly about Dean and Cas being joined at the hip. Walking down a long, dirt road in the French countryside, they marched in silence, their squad leader, Lieutenant Bobby Singer marched in front of them.

Private Lafitte waked up behind Dean and Cas and threw an arm around the two of them, “Howdy boys, how are we doing today?” They all liked Benny, he was charismatic and charming. He could tell stories that would have everybody, even their grouchy old Lieutenant in stitches. But most of all, he was loyal and dedicated. When shit hit the fan, you knew Benny would be right by your side until the bitter end. 

Cas pulled his rifle securely up onto his shoulder, “Same as usual, Benny. How are you?” They often had these conversations to pass the time as they marched past towns and fields that were battle stricken and burned down. They talked about their lives before the war and dreamt about what would be left of their lives after. 

In his southern drawl, Benny answered, “Ready to get back into the shit, don’t ya think?”

Dean bumped his shoulder into Benny’s chest, “You know I am.” They both looked over at Cas awaiting his answer but he was staring straight ahead in silence. 

When Benny fell back in line, Dean questioned his friend in a lowered voice, “Hey man, you okay?” Cas only nodded stiffly and continued walking. Seeing his best friend acting off did not sit well with Dean so he decided to help him feel better. 

Starting to sing an old Duke Ellington song that drifted into his mind and he picked up Cas’s dusty hand and started to swing him around on that dirt road, as the rest of their company was laughing at the two boneheads.

Cas was embarrassed for a minute before he let himself start to enjoy his friend’s antics; Dean’s rough hands wrapped around Cas's strong waist as his low voice sang out, “He don't love me like I love him... No, nobody could.” Cas met Dean’s shining, mischievous, green eyes and let his combat boots be carried off the ground by Dean’s arms and his heart. 

Dean continued to sing in a hushed voice, “Lord, I got it bad… and that ain’t good.” Private Winchester was only satisfied when he saw the smile break out on his best friend’s face. 

The rest of their squad started wolf-whistling and clapping until Lieutenant Singer was barking out an order, “Alright idiots, quit messing around! Fall in line!” 

They marched on in line, walking two-by-two with Dean humming the same tune. Cas just shook his head at him, thinking silently how lucky he was to have a friend like Dean to help get him through his war until the world jolted and everything went black.

Horrible, blood-curdling screams faded in and out as Cas’s consciousness did. When the dust finally started to settle, Cas felt two hands grab the front of his fatigues and desperately shake him until he opened his eyes again. He was met familiar green eyes that now looked panicked, he tried to hear what Dean was saying over the terrible ringing in his ears, “Cas?! Cas! Are you okay?!”

After assessing his own body and realizing he was fine, Cas slowly found his footing and sat up, his worry switching to Dean. They looked at each other and gave a reassuring nod, Dean helped Cas to his feet as they tried to piece together what had happened.  One hundred feet in front of them was Adam, laying dead, dismembered and bloody. Kevin had rushed over just in case there was any chance of saving his life but he was gone. Private Adam had stepped on an IED and when it deployed, the explosion was devastating. 

Everyone else was more or less okay, Luke and Gabe who had been closest to him had cuts, bruises, and some treatable burns and the rest of the squad had tinnitus but were okay other than being shaken by the blast and sudden, horrific loss of their friend. 

Lieutenant Singer called for an evacuation for Adam’s body with their coordinates over the radio and everybody mourned the loss of the young Private from Oklahoma for as long as their feelings could occupy their minds before they needed to focus on what unknown dangers that were in front of them. 

Nobody said a word until they were camped out for the night, eating c-rations together. Off in the corner together, Cas gently kicked Dean’s leg with his boot to get his attention, “Hey, Dean?” Looking up from his beef stew, Dean grunted at Cas in response, waiting for his question. Cas asked, “We’re going to get through this together, right? We’ll have each other’s back?”

Dean smiled at Cas like the stars that shined through the bombs occasionally bursting above them and lied through his teeth, “Yeah buddy, we’re getting out of this together, I promise.” 

It was a week later that they found themselves in a foxhole together, freezing their asses off in their dirty fatigues, each of them clutching their rifles. Cas looked over at Dean across the low light of their makeshift lantern and posed a question Dean had never considered, “What are you going to do after the war?”

To Dean, there was no after. He was planning on dying in one of these trenches. After all, he was raised to be his father’s soldier, he was trained to kill. He had no other purpose in life after the war, no aspirations. However, looking across at Cas’s eyes he could tell his friend did.

Castiel wanted to go home and have a real-life, in their foxhole that night he spoke about going home and finding a real job, maybe even having a family one day. Castiel still had hope and as Dean looked at him he wondered maybe if they had each other would it be worth it to live through the war. He kept that thought to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

June 1943

Lieutenant Singer’s squadron were moving through an isolated town in Nazi-occupied Switzerland when everything fell apart. The small town looked as though it had been bombed and battle-ridden, everything was eerily quiet as that you could only hear the wind blowing and the sound of the troop's boots on the rough terrain.The haunting silence chilled Castiel to his bones and made the short hairs stand up stiff on the back of his neck; a horrible feeling of dread crashed over him. 

They had all spread out in groups to clear the town when the gunshots started to ring out; the loud cracking and whipping of the shots ringing out as the bullets hit the ground and the surrounding buildings were deafening and terrifying. 

This was not the first time the squad had been shot at so they knew how to respond without panicking like new recruits; Cas, Garth, Gabe, and Luke went one way to start clearing buildings, and Dean, Bobby, Benny, and Kevin went the other.  They all very slowly crept through the town, stopping at a road with a building on either side. Dean and Cas were on either side of the road, hiding behind the buildings, their rifles loaded and clutched tightly against their shoulder ready to be used. 

Cas had happened to look over at his friend just in time to see Dean’s shoulder narrowly be missed by a sniper who had been posted up in a top floor window down the road, the perfect spot to take deadly aim. 

Yelling over the sound of gunshots, Cas desperately warned him, “Dean! Roof!” Dean peeked out from behind the rubble he was hunkered down behind and eventually shot the sniper that had almost nailed him. 

They both reloaded their weapons and went their separate ways again to handle their enemies on the ground and continue to clear the buildings. Dean watched as Cas ran towards gunfire and tried to focus on the task at hand instead of the possibility of his best friend dying. 

Dean steadily placed one foot in front of the other, gravel crunching under his boots with every step until he came face to face with a man who had one job, to send him back to his maker. Luckily, Dean tended to be faster than them or just lucky. Squeezing the trigger of his rifle, Dean watched as a bullet strike the German soldier in the chest. He continued walking before the blood could pool on the ground in front of him. 

It was all business as usual until there was a loud grenade blast from the direction Cas had run off in. Dean really did try to ignore it until he heard Gabe yelling for a medic in a panicked voice. He started sprinting off in that direction but at every turn, he got stopped. At one point, getting grabbed by an enemy soldier who held a knife to his throat before Dean could beat him off and shoot him point-blank. 

Finally, when the dust had settled and all was quiet, the squad met where Kevin was kneeling over Luke who had a hole in his calf along with other wounds. He was already busy treating them when everyone had reconvened. Lieutenant Singer tried to rally his troops, “Call it out. We got everyone?”

Dean tried to stay calm but the panic was starting to build in his chest, “Where’s Novak?” As he looked around at the desolate town and did not see Cas’s familiar face waiting for him he felt like all of Europe was going to fall out from under his combat boots. 

Lieutenant Singer sighed with dread, “Spread out, find Novak.” Before they walked away, Bobby put a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder but nothing could comfort him until he had Cas back. 

Kevin and Luke sat back while the rest of the squad searched through the rubble and now quiet buildings of the town. No matter however calm and somber the rest of the team was, Dean was frantic, tearing through any place Cas could be injured. He had no idea how long he had been looking; long enough for the sun to start to fade in the sky and his vision to blur. 

Benny slowly walked up behind Dean, dreading what was about to happen, “He’s gone, brother. I’m sorry. We got to go.” Benny's face fell as Dean's shoulder's sagged with defeat; everyone could feel the hopelessness that now infected the once untouchable soldier.

The feeling in Dean's chest was indescribable. He wanted to fall to his knees, let his tears flow with no shame. Dean and Cas had become best friends and each other's security blankets and now, he did not have his codependent to get through the rest of hell.  Dean wanted to fall apart desperately but the war was not going to wait for him so they marched on in silence. 

In the next battle the squad engaged in, Private Dean Winchester was a man with a death wish. He had no regard for his own life but he could fight to save his fellow troops. If he happened to find himself between a bullet and a friend then that is where he was meant to be. 

One brisk night as Dean was cleaning and prepping his rifle another day Lieutenant Singer sat by his side and tried to soothe his young troop’s aching mind, “Hey, son. I know you and Novak were close…”

The look of daggers that stabbed into Bobby’s soul could have killed as Dean spit back, “Don’t. He was my best friend.”

“I’m just saying… I know his death was hard on you. That doesn’t mean you need to die too.” Leave it to the weathered Lieutenant who had seen it all to see right through him. 

Dean tried to hold back his tears to keep up his facade of the tough soldier but without Cas, his hope was fading. He had made the mistake of letting him in and now? Cas was dead.

However, little did Dean know, Private Novak was not dead. He just wished he was. He was being held in a tiny cell by German officers.  Every day he was left alone in a horrible silence with no food or water until the German officer came to traumatize him once a day. He had a sharp voice and ways of giving Castiel nightmares. Everyday Cas was beaten and repeatedly asked the same questions over and over. 

However, no matter what happened to him in that cell, no matter what question he was asked... Cas never broke. They asked him about basic training, the US forces, and artillery. Every day he remained silent, no matter the physical or mental anguish. Even if he had gotten captured and could not continue to fight outside this cell, he would never make it easier for their enemies to win. 

One morning, before his eyes had opened, he was yanked out of his cell with a violent hand around his throat. One officer, a tall muscular man with blonde hair held Cas up by his throat and one arm against a wall, Cas was so weak he could not fight back. 

Another officer stood in front of them, the only noise that filled the room was Castiel’s heavy breathing. The man standing in front of him reared back and punched Cas in the stomach. He snarled, “Where are the rest of your men?”

Cas stayed silent throughout the abuse. After every beating, they would ask him the same question over and over again. Cas would never reveal any information not even after the officer started to beat him with an iron baton. C astiel only spat in his face, the action full of hatred.After that, he was thrown back in his cell for two days with no food or water. Eventually, the hunger pangs started to subside and he was so weak that he just let his eyes close, trying to let his mind stray to a happier place. 

His nightmare repeated with every creak of the cell door opening. 

On the French German border, Lieutenant Singer’s squadron met up with the rest of the 109th infantry. They marched into Namur, a German-held and fortified town. Even though the men were well-prepared and fairly experienced by now, the artillery they faced in Namur was intimidating and deadly. 

From where Cas laid shivering and weak in his cell, a German nameless soldier burst in and roughly grabbed him without saying a word. Rushing him out of the basement, Cas started to hear the commotion of the outside world, it was all warped and too far off but the sounds were real. The light that blinded his bleary blue eyes was searingly painful but even through the bright sun he could still make out an American flag and blurs of familiar green camouflage. 

As he was being dragged towards an unmarked van, a well-guarded death sentence, Cas could have sworn he saw a familiar face. Was it the exhaustion or was it really him? Through the dirt spraying towards the sky and being dragged backward, Cas could just barely make out the strong jawline, littered with the beginnings of a beard; sparkling green eyes once kind, now so focused and deadly, one would not dare to cross him. His arms, strong and comforting. Hands that had once handed Castiel a friendly cigarette and deadly grenades, wrapped around a rifle. There was no denying that was Dean. 

A new spark of hope was set ablaze in the beaten Private, he fought harder than he had in months. Using his now thin and weak arms, Cas tried to punch and kick his way free. When he realized that nothing was working to capture PRivate Winchester's attention, his last resort was to try and scream but his voice was drowned out by the passing bullets and explosions. 

It didn't take long for his efforts to be stopped by the officers. 

When he finally opened his dry eyes again, he was in another cell similar to the last. Just as dim, filthy, and damp with plenty of well-dressed, face-less officers on the other side of the hard metal bars barking nonsense at him. 

Cas could only lay on his side and close his eyes as he waited for death. 


End file.
